Philosophy in the Dressing Room
by element78
Summary: Or, How To Almost Ruin Your Brother's Wedding. Cas and Dean, inappropriate behavior in a church, instant karma, and a meaningful conversation that doesn't quite manage to happen. AU, slash.


A/N: A fluffy little fic, to prove to myself that I can indeed write an actual one-shot and keep it under ten thousand words. Written between long-ass road trips number one and two- one more and I'll have survived the summer, go me. Don't take this too seriously. I certainly didn't.

* * *

"I don't like this," Dean says, as if that's any news to anyone. His fingers fumble the knot and the tie slides straight through, slipping from around his neck to dangle from one hand. He shots a quick, dark look at the only other person in the room, daring him to comment.

Castiel, of course, doesn't take the hint. "This really shouldn't be such a problem for you. You've tied my tie for me many times."

"Not around your neck, smartass," Dean snaps, focusing on the mirror again because he can't look at Cas now without thinking about exactly what they do with aforementioned tie and he's _pissed_ at Cas, goddammit. "Do I really need this stupid thing?"

"Sam certainly thinks so," Cas says evenly. Dean pauses for a moment, turning that sentence over and over in his head, studying it carefully. Castiel's sense of humor is desert-dry and understated and he's in a feisty mood, as the tie comment attests. There's some hook in those words, Dean knows it, but he can't find it.

"Yeah, Sam thinks so," he grumbles, threading the tie through the loop in the knot and yanking hard. Apparently he got it wrong again, for it closes tight around his throat and only gets tighter as he tugs on it. He doesn't have the chance to get himself truly worked up before Cas is there, slipping between Dean and the mirror, graceful fingers deftly unpicking the knot. He keeps his eyes on the tie, every ounce of his incredible intense focus centered on this mindless action he performs every single day. His breath skates over Dean's neck, fingers brushing feather-light against his skin as he reties the stupid tie, and Dean stays perfectly still, anticipation so heavy in the air he can taste it.

"He's getting married today," Cas says, still focused on the tie as if it'll catch fire if he looks away for one second. He takes a moment to smooth out the creases Dean's inept fumbling had pressed into it. "Be happy for him." He says it with familiarity, as if by rote. He's got a whole passel of siblings, Dean knows, most of which he doesn't really get along with. It's entirely possible he's reciting something someone else said to him at some point.

"I am," Dean protests, and Cas leaves off fiddling with his tie and gives him a patiently disbelieving look. And because it's Cas, and if Dean can't talk to Cas he might as well shoot himself now, he glances away and drags his hand through his hair. "He's my brother, you know? I practically raised the kid. I should be happy for him. I _am_ happy for him." He says the last part firmly, as if all he needs is for it to be an order.

Cas smooths his tie down one last time and leans forward those last few inches, pressing a chaste kiss against Dean's lips. He rocks back on his heels, head cocked to one side slightly, waiting for a response. Dean runs his tongue over his lips and groans, wraps a hand around the back of Cas' neck and pulls him back in for a proper kiss. It's smooth and slow and lazy, not the quick frantic kisses that normally precedes sex, the two taking their time with each other as they rarely do. Castiel is a masterpiece artist in bed, his scary-intense focus an unbelievable turn on and an incredible benefit, and Dean knows Cas has mapped him out, knows every single sensitive spot on his body. But Dean is impatient and experimental, and he prefers spontaneity to Cas' almost scientific approach, and Cas humors him most times.

Dean catches Cas' lower lip with his teeth, nipping gently, and Cas moans deep in his throat and leans forward a little more, full body contact from the knee up. He pulls away when Dean tries to move to his neck.

"No marks," he says. "Wedding, remember?"

"Why do you care about my brother's wedding so much?" Dean asks, resting his hands on Cas' hips and hooking his thumbs under Cas' belt to keep him from going too far.

"I like Sam," Cas responds. "Better than I like you, sometimes."

And it's true. Sam and Cas have a normal friendship where they watch football and talk about their jobs and swap stories about the monsters they call their older brothers- Dean wouldn't have thought himself even in the same league as Gabriel, and is a little insulted by the comparison- and generally do boring normal things. A perfectly normal, perfectly boring friendship. On the other hand, within ten minutes of their first meeting, Cas had given Dean a black eye, and twenty minutes after that they were making out like high school kids in the backseat. That had, more or less, set the tone for their entire relationship.

Which isn't even going into how much effort it had taken to piss off calm, reserved Cas that much, that fast- Dean had fully deserved that black eye, he happily admits these days, now that he has the safety net of three years' worth of a steady relationship to catch him.

"I knew it. You only love me for the great sex." Dean pulls Cas back in and kisses him again, trying to get him out of his Mister Responsibility headspace and back into the sex-now-please place. "My pretty face." Another kiss. "My awesome car."

"I don't like your car," Cas reminds him.

"Heathen." Another kiss, to take any potential sting out of the words. Dean pushes into Cas, starting to fumble with his clothes, wanting them _gone_, but Cas puts both hands on Dean's shoulders and pushes him back a good two steps.

"Wedding," he says, enunciating carefully. "Your brother is getting married."

Dean literally whines, though he'll deny it to his dying day. "What the hell, Cas? You can't just start something and then say, _oh, sorry, never mind_."

Cas considers this a moment, eyes narrow and watchful. Then he nods, decision reached, and steps forward to kiss Dean again. He carefully undoes Dean's belt, slapping Dean's hand away when he reaches up to loosen that damn tie, all without breaking the kiss for more than a brief second to breathe. Dean lets him lead, kissing back but keeping his hands safely on Cas' hips, trying to behave. When Cas frees his cock and wraps a hand around it, he breaks away from the kiss, biting his lip hard to keep from making too much noise. There are a lot of other people here and the dressing room door doesn't lock.

Cas kisses him again, teasing his mouth open, then pulls away and rests his head on Dean's shoulder. He traces his thumb over the teeth marks on Dean's lip and runs the other thumb over the head of Dean's cock in the same moment, and Dean strangles his moan and gives this pathetic little whimper instead. He can feel Castiel smile, lips curving against his skin, brilliant blue eyes locked on his face, and jerks his hips forward, thrusting into Cas' hand.

Then Cas apparently decides he isn't torturing Dean enough. With one final kiss, he steps back half a pace and drops to his knees. Dean bites out an oath- doubly blasphemous, perhaps, since they're in a church, but hardly at the top of the list in terms of current unacceptable behavior- and threads his fingers into Cas' hair since there's nothing close enough for him to support himself against. Cas licks at his cock, quick kittenish little laps of the tongue, like he isn't quite sure what he's doing, like he hasn't done this a hundred times before, like he doesn't know the best way to take Dean apart. Dean considers gagging himself with his own tie so he can make all the noise he wants. Would serve the bastard right, some distant part of his brain thinks hazily. Then Cas takes the head of his cock into his mouth and even that holdout shuts down.

For a bit Dean watches Cas and pants and moans and bites the side of his hand when necessary. Then he spares a glance around and blinks in surprise when he meets his own gaze- they're still in front of the mirror, Cas close enough to it that if he were to sit back he'd be leaning against it. He studies the reflection, the motion of Cas' head, his free hand splayed over Dean's hip, Dean's own hand combing through Cas' dark hair. Then he looks back up at his face and knows instantly that everyone will have at least a basic idea of what they got up to in here- his lips are swollen with kisses and teeth marks, his face flushed, his clothes all askew in a way that can only mean one thing. He doesn't care, though, can't bring himself to even think about why this is a bad thing. Instead he watches his reflection, watched his eyes go wider and darker with each second.

The hand on his hip slides back, preparing, then Cas does _something_ with his tongue and Dean jerks. His orgasm hits him hard and he finally looks away from the mirror, eyes closing as he muffles his cry into his sleeve, Cas swallowing him down like a pro.

When he comes back down he finds Cas' arm wrapped around his waist, keeping him upright. Both his hands have gone to Cas' shoulders, fingers digging in and no doubt leaving bruises. Dean forces himself to let go, muttering something that was probably an apology, and gets an unconcerned glance in reply.

"We need to get a mirror for the bedroom," Dean says a minute later, when Cas is back on his feet and Dean's got his clothes straightened. Cas glances back at the mirror behind him.

"No," he says. Dean chooses to hear _maybe_ and stores it away for future consideration. Before he can say anything else, there's a loud knock and the door hesitantly opens halfway.

"Dean?" Sam calls warily. "You decent?"

Dean pulls a face at his little brother's awesome cockblocking skills and gives Cas a quick kiss.

"I owe you one," he mutters, then says louder, "I dunno, Sam. Cas's got his jacket off. Might offend your delicate sensibilities."

He can practically hear Sam roll his eyes.

"All right," the kid says as he walks in, apparently deciding to take his chances. "You have the ring? You remember what you're doing?"

"Yes, Sam," Cas says before Dean can say _well, maybe not, we've only gone over it about twenty times_. Dean wonders if he's the only one who can hear the exasperation under the eternal patience. Sam looks at them again, his face doing some sort of expressional ballet as he recognizes signs and follows the clues to the obvious.

"You weren't just…" he begins, then snaps his mouth shut audibly, very clearly not wanting an answer. After a moment he tries again. "You said you were going to behave today."

"And?" Dean prompts. Cas has gone very still, the way he always does whenever the brothers Winchester look to start fighting, and Dean hates it when he does that. It harkens to Cas' childhood, as the youngest child in an overlarge family of people who have nothing in common except blood. Sam sees it too, and backs off and gives Dean a warning glare. By his estimation- and everyone else's- Cas is the best thing that's happened to Dean, and Sam is in no bigger hurry to fuck it up than Dean is.

"Right," Sam says, shuffling his feet and glancing around, and instantly he's Dean's geeky awkward little brother, not a confident self-reliant young man. Dean glances at Cas to see if he shares the humor only to meet his panic-wide eyes. He looks seconds away from hyperventilating. Before Dean can start worrying about this sudden change in mood, Cas swings his gaze to the ground by Dean's feet. Dean takes the hint and looks down.

"Right," he echoes, stepping forward carefully. "So you're here, what, so you don't see the bride? That's cool. Always fun, hanging out like this." He's gearing his words for maximum awkwardness, trying to keep Sam from looking at Cas, who still looks pretty freaked. It works, for Sam shifts uncomfortably, eyes locked on some point over Dean's head.

"Yeah, you know you two do... something rated PG-13 or under. I'm gonna…" He gestures over his shoulder, indicating the door. He turns and heads out, stopping in the doorway to give them both a look of total confusion. As soon as the door clicks shut Dean turns on his heel and strides back over to where he'd been standing. He crouches down and picks up the small velvet-covered jewelry case that was supposed to have been in his pocket and, hoping against hope, pops it open. Then he sweeps his gaze over the patterned carpet around him. Finally he pulls out his cell phone and glances at the screen. He feels very calm, although that probably won't last.

"Twenty-seven minutes before my brother's wedding begins and I lose the wedding ring," he says, because it's so absurd it needs saying to be believed. He glances back up at Cas. "I hear Toronto is nice this time of year."

* * *

Finding the ring is actually easy, which is good- Dean isn't all that anxious to move to Canada, but he's even less anxious to be murdered by his little brother in a church full of people. The problem turns out to be retrieving it.

"This is unreal," Dean says as Cas pulls the thinnest book he can find off the bookcase. Like all the others, it's short and fat, and Dean knows it won't work even before Cas tries. He kneels down, comparing the book to the gap between the bottom shelf and the floor, and stands back up.

"Why did you have it in your pants pocket?" he asks as he puts the book back, sounding as though he's trying very hard to appear curious, not pissed. He isn't quite managing it.

"Because I wasn't expecting a friggin' blow job in a church half an hour before the wedding," Dean snarls. He drops to the ground, flat on his stomach, cheek pressed against the carpet. The ring is a vague glint a foot or so back. He can't really see more, as the shelf is set not even two inches off the floor. They've already ruled out reaching for it, moving the insanely heavy bookcase, and using the books. Dean lifts his head, looks around the room for anything long and skinny. Cas for his part moves over to the desk- someone's office, Dean thinks, but he doesn't know enough about church hierarchy to even begin to guess whose- and starts opening drawers.

"Broom handle, maybe?" Dean offers, squinting into the darkness under the bookcase. He measures the gap again with his fingers. A moment later an empty manila folder slaps down next to his head.

"See if you can slide it on that," Cas tells him, circling around so he was crouching in front of Dean, leaning one shoulder against the bookcase. Dean takes the folder and slides it under the bookcase, aiming for the ring. It's a bad plan, as the ring prefers to scoot back rather than slide onto the folder, and Dean isn't exactly the best choice of the two in terms of handling such a tedious task. After a solid two minutes of patiently fishing, he gets impatient and shoves the folder forward quickly, working on the tablecloth theory- as in, yank the tablecloth off fast enough and none of the dishes will fall.

The faint glint of the ring disappears entirely. A moment later comes a soft _tink_ as it hits the back wall. Dean lifts his head again, resting his chin on one hand and rubbing at his eyes with the other.

"Is there a Plan D?" he asks. Cas shifts his weight but doesn't answer, looking instead towards the door as it abruptly swings open.

Sam takes one step into the room and freezes, staring at the two men in front of him. After a moment he shakes his head. "I don't want to know," he says. "Just… whatever this is, you've got fifteen minutes." And he retreats, pointedly closing the door behind him.

"We are so dead," Dean says.

* * *

"This is because we got it on in a church, isn't it?" Dean asks suspiciously. If he had the time, he'd be on his way to the jewelry store right now to get a replica. He'd been there when Sam had gotten the ring, he knew what it looked like.

"I doubt it," Cas says, perfectly calm. Couldn't ruffle the bastard's feathers if you hit him with a brick. Then again, it isn't Cas that gets to tell Sam why he's got no ring to give his bride. Dean barks out a sharp laugh.

"Really? Because it-" he grunts, bites his lip as the paperclip twists in the lock- "-seems to me someone's got a pretty twisted sense of humor up there. I mean, we're breaking into a janitor's closet in a church- the church my brother's getting married in- so we can take a broom and get that fucking ring back, and barely twenty minutes after-" he pauses again, works the twisted wire a bit more and exhales a triumphant laugh when the lock clicks. He pulls the paperclip out and straightens up, opening the door. "And who the hell locks a janitor's closet, anyway? – twenty minutes after you're going down on me in the priest's office."

"Minister's office," Cas corrects mildly. He picks out a broom and ducks back towards the office in question. Dean kicks the door shut and follows.

"Karma," Dean insists, once they're safely back in the office. This time Cas is doing the detail work while Dean leans against the door, preventing any further visitors. They're painfully aware of the time limit, thankyouverymuch.

"Sounds like something Gabriel would do," Cas says thoughtfully. "If he had the power."

There's a moment of silence while Dean considers this. "That… is the most horrifying thought ever," he decides finally. Cas had looked at him when he'd started talking and smiles at his words, a rare quicksilver smile, there and gone so fast it might well have been nothing more than a trick of the eye. Then he tosses the broom aside and pushes himself up, a glitter of gold in one hand. He brushes it off, chasing away some dust and a sticky thread of cobweb, and hands it over to Dean, who slides it into its little slot in the case. Then he catches Cas' hand, pulling him to his feet, and keeps pulling until the shorter man stumbles against him.

"Definitely owe you one," he murmurs. Before he can cross those last few inches, Cas places a hand over his mouth.

"Wedding, Dean," he says, and Dean groans in frustration. He pulls Cas' hand down and kisses him anyway, just to be contrary, then lets go and heads out. He pats his pocket once, just to be sure, then pulls out the case and cracks it open just to be doubly sure. Cas reaches around him and snaps the case shut, tucks it carefully back into his pocket, and pushes him gently down the hallway.

They make it with three minutes to spare.

* * *

Dean manages to misplace his tie sometime between the ceremony and the reception, which annoys Cas to no end since Dean had borrowed it from him. He drinks a little too much, eats three slices of cake because cake is almost as good as pie, gives an appropriate if dull toast, and generally behaves himself better than most people expected but not as well as Sam might have hoped.

He doesn't tell anyone about their losing the ring- there's time enough for that later, when the humor of the situation will be better received and appreciated.

* * *

"Light is yellow," Dean says casually, hands fisted so tight his knuckles are white. "Light is yellow, slow down, _slow down_-!"

"Why is it," Cas asks, far too calmly, as the Impala sails through the intersection under the yellow-turning-red light, "that when I drive, every traffic law must be obeyed to the letter, but you drive like you're in a demolition derby?"

Dean isn't stupid enough to answer that honestly. Nor does he overlook the tone. "Always wanted to be a NASCAR driver growing up," he says flippantly. "And it's not that I don't trust you-"

"You don't trust anyone with this car," Cas tells him, and Dean shuts up right there, because he knows better than to get within a hundred feet of that one.

"Jeez," he mutters instead. "Sammy is married now. He's all grown up." He'd said something similar to Sam earlier, using his smartass older brother voice then, but now there's only wonder and shock and a sort of _when the hell did that happen?_ bewilderment.

As the baby of his family, Cas can't even pretend to understand. He just reaches over and takes Dean's left hand, forcing his fist to unclench until he can thread their fingers together. "He still loves you, you know," he says.

Maybe it's the late hour or the quiet night around them- it's an hour drive back home; Sam had offered to spring for a hotel room but Dean had turned it down- maybe it's the half-decent booze Dean had indulged a little too much in. Maybe it's just because he needed to hear that, even though he already knows it. Whatever the case, he doesn't deflect the sentiment with a sarcastic quip, doesn't spoil the moment with his normal emotional constipation. Instead he just squeezes Cas' hand, not trusting himself to open his mouth.

Which is something of a lost cause, since about twenty seconds later he's saying, "Speed limit is fifty, not fifty-four, slow it down," and Cas tightens his grip on Dean's hand until Dean can hear bone creaking.

* * *

The next morning, Dean ambushes Cas in the shower as an apology for Sam's awesomely inconvenient timing the day before. They don't leave until the water runs cold.


End file.
